


if i could see you right now

by KingLear



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Drabbles, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Jack Zimmermann Didn't Go to Samwell, M/M, POV Kent Parson, Past Relationship(s), Personal Growth, shady deals and negotiations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 01:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16440791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingLear/pseuds/KingLear
Summary: "We're going to the draft, Kenny. Together," Jack had mouthed to him, fingers spreading out and linking with his own. There were stars in his eyes as he stared out at the night sky in listless wonder. Had turned to him with those damned crinkles that softened the harsh blue.With an empty smile, Kent had grabbed the outstretched hand into his and given it a firm squeeze, unable to say anything in response. They stood there for what felt like hours, the Quebec air bitingly cold in the face of empty enthusiasm.aka Kent goes to Samwell instead of Jack, and Jack goes First, and how they find their way back to each other





	1. prologue i

"We're going to the draft, Kenny. Together," Jack had mouthed to him, fingers spreading out and linking with his own. There were stars in his eyes as he stared out at the night sky in listless wonder. Had turned to him with those damned crinkles that softened the harsh blue.

With an empty smile, Kent had grabbed the outstretched hand into his and given it a firm squeeze, unable to say anything in response. They stood there for what felt like hours, the Quebec air bitingly cold in the face of empty enthusiasm.

Eventually, he dragged Zimms back into bed, despite the others' mumbling protests. He made sure to tuck him all nice and neat before leaving a lingering kiss on his brow. He brushed the knot in Zimms' sleepy brow, before taking a deep breath and gathering himself.

With a final glance at the boy of his dreams, the four walls that had become home, Kent walked out of the room.

It had been surprisingly easy to pack up his life in a few boxes and just leave. That was a lie, and Kent knew it. He's got things everywhere in that house, little tidbits that he'd collected, t-shirts and jerseys, the stupid fucking mug that Jack had won him at the fair.

It's weirdly methodical the way he packs himself up. He starts with the den in the basement and then moves upwards, there's nothing he can say or do, and even that helpless anger that had initially brewed in his stomach is gone. He's empty, and all out of fuel. One after the other, until it's like Kent had never lived there to begin. There were only traces of Jack left now.

When Jack's dad joins him, arms folded with the coldest eyes that he's ever seen, he asks frankly, with none of the grace of his wife, "Are you done?"

He nods shakily, and they exchange no more words from there on forth, Jack's dad lifts his luggage like they weigh nothing. They drive to the city airport in silence, to a new life that Kent should be happy to have, a life without hockey, without Jack and his stupid eyes and the reality of the situation finally rips into his guts.

When they reach the terminals, Jack's dad drops off the tagged luggage at the check-in and hands him his passport and ticket to his new life. There's a moment where Kent is hoping that Jack will come rushing in through the barrage of milling people, defend his honor or some shit. But none of that happens, Jack is back at the house, obliviously sleeping away the unprescribed pills, and the moment passes.

Jack's dad said, "The money's been transferred to your account."

He says, "Don't violate the terms of our agreement."

And a parting shot, "Don't try to contact Jack ever again."

With a crawling feeling of finality, he realizes that this is it. And every bit of numbness that he'd steeled himself up with crumbles down effortlessly when he finally locks himself in the disabled toilets, back sliding against the door and he's sitting on the dirty floor, the palms of his hands rubbing against his eyes as he cries harder than the day he found out that he was eligible for the Draft.

It was all over.


	2. poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: dubious consent due to kent drinking, alcohol abuse(?), dissociation

He'd spent the last few days drunk out of his mind, who was there to judge him when the Haus was empty till the new year started? It wasn't as if there was a shortage of money in his bank account yet. He bitterly swigged his beer and twisted his head on the lumpy pillow, staring up at the ceiling wondering if Jack had realised that Kent wasn’t coming back.

 

Scoffing to himself, he turned into the pillow, refusing to let the tears fall, clutching the thin sheets with white-knuckled fists, how much was he going to let himself cry? 

 

The phone had rung almost insistently, persistent, for the first few hours that he'd landed in Samwell, and worked perfectly well, blaring the Taylor Swift song that he'd set as Jack's ringtone as a joke until he'd pelted the thing at the wall so hard that it cracked down the middle and went black. He'd been left in silence since then.

 

Flinging the blanket away from his overheated body, he rose from the bed and stomped down the stairs in a restless flurry of movement, he had to get out of the house otherwise he was positive that he was going to go  _ mad _ . 

 

He rushed to the direction of the nearest bar, starting off in a jog ruined by the effects of how much he’d drunk in the last 48 hours, stumbling over his dumb tattered shoelaces. He wondered what lie Jack’s dad had come up with. He wondered if Jack believed what his dad said. If he thought that Kent had ran away like he hadn’t wanted the symbiosis of their partnership, the completeness he would have felt if Jack had become center and Kent his left wing like they’d deserved to be. 

 

Once he’d settled on a bar stool, it was damningly simple for him to pull a guy, some lumberjack with dark blue eyes and large hands swayed by his pretty lashes and sad baby face. “Your place or mine?” The words are the most lumberjack guy says, hooking his hands on the side of Kent’s slender hips, and Kent could tell him to keep away, direct him to the next dumb airhead coming his way but all Kent ever sees when he closes his eyes is Jack’s face glittering with hope -  and he knows he can’t sleep alone that night.

 

With a tepid kiss that ignited self-disgust, he said, “Yours,” then led the other man out through the door as fast he’d came in. They were a tangle of limbs as they finally crashed into the double-bed with the nice pillows. He’d never been so detached from an experience, even as he’d laced a hand through the others gelled locks, cringing as the sticky residue transferred on his fingers, eyes wide open as he let the man grab a hold of his strings and move him like a marionette.

 

When the lumberjack finally finishes grunting, he gave a final thrust almost involuntarily, a low groan of pleasure at the tight heat that Kent provided. The other man pulled out soon after, giving a non-committed kiss on Kent’s neck, leaving for the shower. 

 

Kent rolled over and crushed his eyes close, desperately chasing sleep. 

 

As the lacklustre thrall of sleep finally pulled at him, he wondered what Jack was doing. If he missed Kent, if he’s losing his mind like Kent is or if he’s too wrapped up in the high that the pills give him. 

**Author's Note:**

> im trying a new writing style :~) and i cant stop writing about my favourite sad white (passing) broken bois


End file.
